


Up the Stakes

by BlessedPicturesPresents



Category: Alan Wake (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Office, Begging, Blow Jobs, Boss/Employee Relationship, Desk Sex, Hair-pulling, M/M, Office Blow Jobs, Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Unhealthy Relationships, Window Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-11
Updated: 2020-11-11
Packaged: 2021-03-09 17:46:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27510235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlessedPicturesPresents/pseuds/BlessedPicturesPresents
Summary: Office AU; No one gets called to the Editor's office as often as Alan Wake does.
Relationships: Mr. Scratch/Alan Wake
Kudos: 12





	Up the Stakes

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Poets of the Fall's "The Lie Eternal".
> 
> This one was sort of a tongue-in-cheek request from my editor.

Most content writers never get called directly to the Head Editor’s office, except for Alan Wake. It wasn’t a surprise to anyone in his department; he’s been the head writer as long as they’ve all worked there, longer than they know; they all whisper to each other during lunch, wondering what hot assignments he’s being given, what special treatment he receives. Some are jealous, some are bitter, but none of them pester Wake about it directly, knowing he won’t say a word, knowing he’ll simply stare down at his feet and mutter nothing of interest. They watch as he walks through the office to once again take the lonely elevator ride up to office 667, somewhere on the fortieth floor. They chatter amongst themselves, unaware that within minutes, Wake is kneeling in front of the Editor’s massive mahogany desk, lapping at his half-hard dick with a slow, methodical tongue.

Wake doesn’t pay them any mind. Instead, he wonders why the hell the Editor finds it hilarious to talk on the phone while he’s getting the start of a blowjob. He glances up at the Editor, leaning against his desk with his arms crossed, but the bastard isn’t even paying attention to him. Honestly, why he keeps letting this asshole push him into sex over lunch just to be ignored is beyond him. Wake drags his teeth across the Editor’s dick slowly, a warning, but the Editor doesn’t give a shit. He simply reaches down, pulls Wake’s hair once, and goes back to his conversation.

“I know, he’s been ignoring the requests every time we send them,” the Editor’s saying, his voice unwavering, not at all bothered by the mouth on his dick. He practically sounds bored. “Well, he puts out a fuckload of content, so I don’t think it’s worth it to consider severance packages just yet. I think we can convince him.” 

Wake flicks his gaze to the desk. The Editor’s name plate catches his eye. Downstairs, the writers joke that his name is Mr. Scratch, because the name is so ridiculous that it looks like someone took a knife to the metal engraving. Hell, as far as Wake’s concerned, it sounds like it too, like a verbal record scratch or audio tear. It caught on fast, and if the Editor knows anything about it, he’s never mentioned it. Wake wouldn’t be surprised if he loves it, edgy bastard. _Mr. Scratch._ Like a serial killer, or the Devil or something. The name fits him to a T, with a personality like a cheese grater to the face. Wake snorts under his breath, closing his eyes and taking Scratch’s dick fully into his mouth, feeling Scratch’s fingers curling into his hair again.

“I’ll talk to him, promise,” Scratch is saying, using Wake’s hair to gently guide him back and forth, pulling just enough that it causes butterflies of pleasure in Wake’s stomach. “Yeah. Of course. You can count on me.” Scratch’s hand disappears as he turns, hitting a button on his phone console; he turns back, raking his fingers through Wake’s hair with both hands. “Hey there, Alan,” Scratch practically purrs. Wake rolls his eyes under the lids. “Missed you too, kitten. Look, we need to talk.” Wake opens his eyes, glancing up at Scratch, raising an eyebrow. A silent _should I stop?_ Scratch grins. “Actually, you know what? I’ll do the talking. You’re busy.”

Wake rolls his eyes again, sliding them shut as he slides up and down on Scratch’s slowly hardening dick.

“That call was the CEO,” Scratch goes on, raking his nails across Wake’s scalp, pulling the hair he grips gently, over and over again. “The Board. They’re not happy with you, Alan. They keep demanding you complete your special project, but it seems like,” Scratch clicks his tongue, “you’re more interested in writing anything else than what we’ve asked you to do.”

Wake pulls back, running his tongue flat against the underside of Scratch’s dick; he sucks at the head, flicking the underside of it with his tongue, and dips down again, working more and more of Scratch into his mouth. He hears Scratch moan softly, feels the fingers in his hair tighten.

“I told them I’ll talk you into it,” Scratch huffs, sounding slightly breathless. “You have to work with me, buddy. They know you’re our best but if you can’t focus on the one project they need done, well… I don’t know how long I can keep them from deciding to terminate you.” Wake raises an eyebrow, humming against Scratch’s now fully hardened dick. “I’m not sure how many benefits you can get from a full termination, besides the obvious.” Scratch laughs to himself quietly, a chuckle that feels chilling, but Wake’s too busy to think about it that deeply. The fingers in his hair grip hard and pull, yanking Wake’s mouth off of Scratch and pulling him up from his knees to a standing position. Wake hisses in pain, rubbing his head, glowering.

“What the fuck was that for,” he starts to say, but Scratch pushes off the desk, steps towards him.

“Turn around,” Scratch practically purrs, smirking. Wake lets out a slow breath, stepping forward to lean against the desk with his palms, pushing his hips out. He feels Scratch take them in his hands, grip tightly and undo the buttons on his tasteful work slacks. “Been a while, huh, Alan?”

“Not really,” Wake mutters. He feels Scratch’s frigid hands against his ass, Scratch’s foot tapping his own feet to tease his legs open wider. He leans harder against the desk, steps out as far as he can with his pants and boxers pulled down around his thighs. His stomach feels tight, his own dick half-hard between the taste of Scratch on his tongue and Scratch’s hands on him. He can’t help but moan when he feels a lube-slicked finger slides into him, pushing deep and working him open. Scratch chuckles behind him, slips in another finger. “I can’t just write it,” Wake huffs. “What they’re asking. It’s not just something I can- _hh,_ just pull out of thin air.”

“These are the kinds of excuses that kill people, Alan. That kill _careers,_ ” Scratch seems to correct himself, but Wake doesn’t notice. “This is the story they’re counting on. You can’t not work on it.”

“If they’re not going to give me any..” but he can’t finish the thought, moaning and leaning more heavily against the desk. Wake tries to push some of the things out of the way gently, but Scratch leans around him and shoves half of them violently out of the way, some of the baskets and trinkets going scattering across the floor. Scratch puts one hand in the middle of Wake’s shoulders and presses down hard, slamming his chest against the desk; Wake feels him pull the slacks down around his ankles instead, pushing his legs further apart until they’re nearly aching from the strain. “Any, any sources, or starting points, I-I..”

“That’s _your_ job, Alan,” Scratch responds smoothly, “steady,” and pushes his hard, full dick as far into Wake as he can. Wake yelps, which melts into a moan when Scratch gives him no time at all to adjust, pulling almost fully out and thrusting hard in again. With each rough thrust Scratch pulls Wake’s hips up into him, gripping Wake’s hip bones tight enough to bruise. Wake tries not to make noise at first, as always worrying about the secretary outside, the high ceilings making his traitorous voice echo, but he can’t help it: Scratch is rough, unyielding and practiced, knowing exactly how hard he can go and what angle exactly drives Wake insane, and he uses that knowledge liberally. Wake’s hands scrabble at the fine mahogany of the desk, moaning and yelping loudly, rolling his hips back in an attempt to get more and more. The desk is biting into his torso, to the point it’s almost hard to breathe, but Wake doesn’t care. “That’s right,” he hears Scratch murmur behind him, “let me hear you, kitten.”

Scratch fucks him until he starts to babble, until he’s just about to cum, drooling on the desk, and then- just as suddenly, he stops, pulling back, one hand sliding down to and under Wake’s aching dick. “Not yet,” he hisses in Wake’s ear, “not on my desk.” Wake moans desperately, trying to roll his hips into Scratch’s hand, but Scratch is squeezing just under the head of his dick so tightly that the pressure’s starting to dissipate, and he can’t get any friction.

“You dickhead,” Wake moans into the wood grain. He hears Scratch laugh, feels Scratch pull him back up to standing, releasing him entirely. “Come _on,_ it’ll wipe up.”

“That thing costs more than your life, Wake,” but Wake can tell that it’s not really about the desk, no, it’s about the power, the control. “Take your clothes off.”

“Is this not naked enough for you,” Wake complains, breathing hard for a moment before pulling his jackets and shirt over his head.

“Never,” breathes Scratch, pulling the clothing off of Wake violently the second it’s over his head. Wake hears the clothing land somewhere nearby, fumbling with his slacks refusing to go over his shoes. With no small frustration Wake toes his shoes off entirely, painfully yanking his feet out. Scratch grabs him, one powerful hand around the base of the back of Wake’s neck, and maneuvers him towards the back of the desk. The chair was made of leather, and Wake was certain that would be harder to clean, but Scratch bypasses it entirely, pushing Wake up against the frigid glass of one of the massive floor to ceiling windows behind the desk.

“It’s cold,” Wake breathes as Scratch violently shoves him up against it. “Oh, _fuck._ ” His dick aches, but this shock of cold against the front of him jars him enough that he no longer feels even close to orgasm anymore. 

“Good,” Scratch murmurs, leaning hard against Wake, pressing him tighter against the glass. Wake feels a hand, hot now compared to the glass, slide up his chest, thumbing a hard nipple, and he moans. “You want off, Alan?”

“Please,” Wake whispers. Scratch pushes his face against the glass, keeping him trapped against it. Below, the city doesn’t notice, and Wake feels grateful for the coating on the window keeping the buildings around them from being able to see him, humiliated, leaking, pushed up against the glass, unable to move.

“Hmm.” Scratch bites hard into Wake’s shoulder, making him cry out, teasing his nipple harder at the same time. Wake squirms in his grasp. “Let’s say… Sir, for today. Beg me.”

Wake growls, panting, and pushes slightly against the window to try and steady himself, but Scratch won’t let him have an inch. “Sir,” Wake tries, voice warbling and desperate. “Ah, fuck. Please, sir. Please fuck me.”

“Make it sound appealing,” Scratch whispers, biting Wake’s shoulder again, an inch away. The first bite is already bruising up nicely, and Wake can feel the skin swelling between Scratch’s teeth as he sucks at it.

“I need it.” Wake sounds hushed, his words all coming out in a breathless, gasping rush. “I need you, please, _please,_ I’ll do anything. Anything. I’ll- I’ll write your stupid story, please, fuck..”

“Yeah?” Scratch murmurs, starting to slowly, gently, just barely stroke Wake’s dick. Wake moans, the skin so painfully tender.

“ _Yes,_ yes, please, fuck,” he’s starting to babble again. He feels Scratch laugh under his breath, feels Scratch pull his hips out again and shove his head harder against the window. “Fuck, yes, sir, yes, harder,” drips out of him with each thrust as Scratch fucks into him again, just as hard as before. It only takes a few thrusts before Wake cums, yelping and bucking, his knees threatening to give out with the strength of it. Scratch pulls his hips up harder, refuses to let him drop; he fucks into Wake without missing a beat, well after Wake’s finished, and the over-stimulation is insane. It’s painful, and hot, and cold, and so much, all at once. His skin tingles, his body sore, and Wake moans, his open lips smearing against the glass.

“That’s it,” Scratch moans, “perfect,” and Wake feels him thrust through his own orgasm, practically growling. There’s a second where they stay there, both panting, before Scratch unceremoniously pulls out all at once, dropping Wake, who stumbles to the ground, smeared with his own cum as it drips down the window. Scratch pulls a handkerchief out of his breast pocket, cleaning himself up with mechanical movements, before tossing it over his shoulder at Wake. 

“Where the fuck are you going?” Wake calls after him, watching him walk down the length of the over-large office. The used handkerchief lands on his thigh, already sticky and sweaty, and Wake grimaces.

“I have a meeting,” Scratch replies, voice echoing off the walls. He doesn’t bother to turn around, so his words get quieter and quieter as he walks away. “I have to tell the Board you agreed to do it. Clean yourself up and get the hell out of my office.”

The door latches shut without Scratch bothering to look back even once. Wake, in turn, doesn’t bother to wipe his sweat or cum off the window, muttering curses under his breath as he tries to make himself presentable for work again.


End file.
